


A Gift

by emeraldmad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gendry is a Baratheon, Getting Together, Gift Giving, Kissing, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, POV Gendry, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, gendry's a knight now because he deserves it, maybe ooc idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldmad/pseuds/emeraldmad
Summary: On the eve of the Battle of Winterfell, Gendry has a gift for Arya.Arya gives something back.





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I got this idea on Monday and I absolutely couldn't wait to write something for Gendrya after the first s8 episode. They've been my favorite GoT characters for years and I'm so happy they met again that I couldn't contain myself and wrote a completely self-indulgent fluffy fic.  
> This is my first time writing for Game of Thrones so this might be out of character, I'm still getting used to writing in such a different setting to what I usually write so it's definitely not the best, but I tried.  
> *This is set on the day before they fight the White Walkers. I made it so Gendry was knighted and legitimized because hell, he deserves it <3

“Heard you were looking for me.”  

  


Gendry looks away from the forge to find Arya standing in the entrance to the blacksmith, leaning against the doorframe with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her hair falls around her face damp with sweat and snow, swaying slightly from the wind coming from outside.

  


“Was it Bran again?”

  


She laughs. “No, Brienne.”

  


Gendry chuckles and puts away the sword he’s working on, motioning Arya to come in. She walks inside and sits on a counter, looking around the empty forge. “Where is everyone? I thought you’d all be working on the last weapons for tomorrow.”

  


“They’ve all gone to train for the remaining hours before the feast. I decided to stay here and finish off what’s left,” he answers, picking up one of the finished swords and running a rag along the side. “Had enough training done already with Brienne and the Hound.”

  


He hands her the cleaned sword and she takes it, waving it around and faking a few strikes with it to weigh it in her hands before putting it aside with a nod. “We can train together after you’re finished if you want.”

  


Gendry takes another sword and starts cleaning it, glancing at her briefly as he tries to retain his smile. “Whatever you want, m’lady.”

  


“Oh, shut up,” she chuckles and smacks him playfully. “What did you call me for anyway,  _ Ser Gendry _ ?”

  


He puts away the sword and motions her to stand up, shoving a hand into his pockets. “I’ve got something for you.”

  


She gets down, crossing her arms as she comes to stand right before him. “What? You already gave me what I asked you to make for me.”

  


“S’not a weapon,” he answers. He takes his hand out of his pocket closed in a fist and holds it in front of Arya. She scans him up and down as if she’s waiting for a hint of a prank, but he looks almost concerned, blue eyes fixed on hers. “When I worked in King’s Landing, lots of knights and warriors came with stones that they wanted engraved on their weapons or their armor, saying they brought strength or courage or protection. Sometimes a Maester came with them to help them pick or to teach me how or where to put them, so I came to know a lot about birthstones and their properties before I left.” He looks at her and takes a deep breath, opening his hand to reveal what’s inside. 

  


At first she can’t tell what it is, but as she studies it laying in his palm she sees it’s a pendant, beautifully crafted. Held by a fine but strong steel chain is a masterfully cut dark grey gem, almost black, and around it flow strands of steel and gold, almost resembling branches. She can tell it’s expensive just from the glint of it, the jewel clean and almost somber inside the tangle of steel and gold.

  


He speaks again as she takes it in her hands, twirling it around and playing with the chain. “It’s a gray diamond. It’s said to bring victory and courage in war, probably one of the most common and expensive ones I saw back in King’s Landing. Helps you make the right choices as well. I always knew it was the best fit for you”

  


“Gen, it’s… it’s beautiful.” She looks at him, awe-struck, and he thinks he notices her eyes shining with tears but doesn’t mention it. “Dark diamonds are extremely rare, how’d you find one? Must’ve cost you a fortune.”

  


He smiles briefly, lowering his gaze to see her fingers caressing the details of the stone. “It did. I bought it raw back in King’s Landing a few months ago to remind me of you, took all the gold I made since Davos helped me escape. But as soon as I saw you here I knew I had to give it to you.” 

  


She looks into his eyes deeply and he can definitely notice the tears in her eyes now. Her cheeks turn a shy shade of pink, barely noticeable under the light coming from inside the forge. “But— but why? It’s yours, I should not—”

  


“Arya,” he cuts her off, holding one of her wrists in his hand. “I wanted to give you something to remind me by, in case I die tomorrow. Take it as a thank-you gift for all the times you saved me, or simply for sticking with me. I don’t need a rock to remember that anymore if you’re right here.

  


“We fight the undead tomorrow before the sun’s out, either of us could die. I wanted you to know how much you mean to me before that, in case I’m not here anymore after tomorrow.” He takes a deep breath and looks into her grey eyes, wet with tears threatening to overflow, and feels his own heart wrench at the thought of what might come tomorrow. “Arya, you—”

  


He’s cut off by Arya’s hand tugging at his furs, pulling him in to crash their lips together almost clumsily. It takes him a few moments to react, but soon he’s kissing her back, weaving an arm around her waist to pull her closer while he holds her fist with his other, fingers tangled in the steel chains of the pendant. The kiss is slow and hesitant but still sets their hearts racing as they part, pressing their foreheads together as they catch their breaths while looking into each other’s eyes.

  


“Thank you.” Her lips tremble as she speaks, but she powers through. “You won’t die. I’ll make sure of that.”

  


“I will too,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as his breath hits Arya’s lips. He takes the pendant and slips it over her head, laying it just over her collarbone. “I want to live for what’s next. I won’t leave your side.”

  


She smirks at him amusedly and blushes. “You’d better not.”

  


They kiss again, this time fervently but still soft as they savor the moment. She wraps her arms around his neck and his arms go around her waist as he tries his best to memorize what it feels like in case it’s the last thing either of them will have in their memory of each other. He feels Arya shiver when he runs a hand along her side and smiles against the kiss. 

  


“ _ So _ unladylike.” He revels in the sound of her laughter against his lips and they part again, instantly missing each other’s warmth.

  


“Have you  _ ever  _ seen me act like a lady?” she asks with a smile lighting up her face, and he smiles too, remembering how easy it’s been to see her smile since they came to Winterfell. He shakes his head and she laughs again, hugging him tightly before stepping back with his hand in hers. “We should train before it gets dark. It’s not very long until the banquet and I have to see how much I can trust you out there.”

  


He chuckles and follows her outside, never letting go of her hand. “As my lady commands.”

  


-

  


He steps into the Great Hall wearing the clothes Jon gifted him when he was knighted, adding the cape Arya gave him as a gift — _ “You’re shivering”,  _ she’d said while she watched him clean swords a few days back, _ “I’ll have a cloak made for you, you’ll need to be warm when we fight.” _ — and doing his best not to show how nervous he was for the event. Arya had told him to look for Davos to be seated but he couldn’t find him, blocked by the swarms of people getting seated for the banquet to get their last meal in before the big fight at dawn.

  


His eyes stray to the main table. Arya had told him they’d had a new one made since the Boltons held Winterfell, and this one could hold 20 people seated on both sides. He recognizes a handful of the faces that sat with their backs to him: he sees Varys, Davos — _ there he is _ —, Jaime, Brienne and Podrick, Theon, Samwell, The Hound, Beric and Tormund. In front of them sat Daenerys and Jon facing the rest of the Hall, with Tyrion, Jorah, Missandei, and Grey Worm to her right. To her left sat Jon, accompanied by Sansa, Bran and Arya, who had an empty seat next to her.

  


His heart stops momentarily when his eyes fall on Arya, surprised with her appearance. In all the years they’ve known each other he’s never seen her in proper highborn attire, but as he takes her in from the entrance to the Great Hall he feels slightly overwhelmed. Her hair falls down from her face with a braid wrapped around her head and she’s dressed in a dark grey dress —a  _ lady _ dress—, her cloak hanging from her shoulders and his pendant at the center of her chest, glinting with the light coming from the candles. Her eyes find his and she stands up, walking towards him as she holds her hand out.

  


“Finally! I thought training left you too tired to come, Bull,” she says, taking his hand. He smiles back at her sheepishly, his heart beating faster as their fingers intertwine. “Follow me”

  


She guides him through the crowded tables to the main table, sitting down on her spot with his hand still in hers. He looks at her confused, standing beside her chair. “Sit,” she instructs, tugging for him to the seat next to hers at the edge of the table. His face goes red and he lowers his voice, leaning towards her.

  


“Are you sure about this? I don’t wanna steal anyone’s seat—” he mumbles, frantically looking around.

  


“Gendry, it’s your seat.” His eyes widen and he starts to stutter a protest but she tugs his hand again, frowning. “I had to do some rearranging, but you’re supposed to sit here. I asked for it a few days ago.”

  


“Arya—” he tries to protest but she looks at him again and he falls silent. “Are you sure?” he whispers, hoping no one else on the table can hear him. “I’m just the smith, everyone else here is important.”

  


Arya nods, smiling softly. “I arranged this days ago, Gen. You’ve helped me and Jon through the years. You deserve the spot.” Gendry feels himself blush and smiles at her, squeezing her hand. “Now sit before I hit you.”

  


He finally takes a seat on the chair and takes a look around the hall, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at being front and center to everyone in Winterfell. Arya’s hand squeezes his softly and he looks at her, still extremely aware of how exposed he is. “How are you so calm?” he asks, settling on his seat to try and look confident.

  


“No one cares if you’re here, Gendry. Everyone’s too concentrated on their ale and food to care about who’s sitting at the High Table. I could bet no one will even notice who’s here and who isn’t with so much food and drink in them.”

  


He laughs. “Sounds about right, I guess. Still don’t feel good about being so front and center to the whole city, the whole world more like.”

  


She giggles. “Don’t worry, we won’t even be noticed next to them,” she nods to her right where Jon and Daenerys lean against each other in their best clothes, “they’re stealing  _ all  _ the attention.”

  


“‘S true.” He takes a peek over Arya to look over at Jon, who’s pointing towards something in the back of the room with his other arm on the Targaryen’s shoulder. “Jon looks good.”

  


“Good?” Arya laughs. “He looks like he’s gonna choke on his own spit before they serve the wine. But yeah, I guess he looks better than he normally does in those furs. Barely even looks like my bastard brother anymore.”

  


“Hey, got anything against bastards, Lady Stark?” he quips playfully, smiling at her.

  


She shoves her elbow under his ribs before leaning up to kiss him quickly. “Not a thing.”

  


The rest of the night passes faster than he would like, his hand never letting go of Arya’s as they ate and spoke with the other people at the table. He barely drinks, doing his best to remember it all in case it’s the last he’ll have before dawn. He’s almost forgotten the reason for the great dinner when Jon stands up, calling attention to himself as he bangs his empty goblet on the table.

  


He clears his throat and silence falls over the Great Hall, all faces turned to him. “Tomorrow we fight the army of the undead before dawn. Some of us have been warriors for our whole lives,” he vaguely points at where the knights and the Unsullied and Dothraki sit, “and some of us have been forced into becoming fighters in the last ten years with this great war,” he moves his hand to where the folk are, who raise their fists and yell encouragements, “but we are all here with the same objective, no matter our houses or titles. Here stand Starks,” he signs to the High Table, where the Starks silently nod to him, “Lannisters, Greyjoys,” Jaime, Tyrion and Theon nod to him, the small Greyjoy army behind him nodding as well, “and Targaryens,” Daenerys and her company nod silently, raising their hands to their chests, “as well as many knights, folk, servants and friends who have chosen to fight alongside us,” Gendry nods, noticing most of the people in the High Table nod as well. “Many of us have been at war for years, centuries even, but when winter comes blood matters naught, for we all want to live to see another day. We want to love our loved ones,” his gaze meets Arya’s for a second and his heart wrenches before looking at Jon again, “live with our families, enjoy our lives and die a pleasant death.

  


“Many of us may not be alive after tomorrow, or hurt beyond repair, but we will surely have won this war that has waged between White Walkers and men since the dawn of time. Tomorrow’s battle is the end of a lifetime of fear, the death of what the old songs and tales have warned us of for centuries. Tomorrow we fight for our lives and the ones that follow, we fight for our lands and our families and our future beyond houses and riches.” Jon raises his now-full goblet and everyone in the Great Hall follows suit, cups and tankards rising amongst a sea of heads and hair. “Tomorrow we fight and we win for ourselves, because nothing can stand between a man and his will to live. For Westeros!”

  


“ _ For Westeros! _ ” the hall yells, the sound of it almost deafening as cups, goblets and tankards clink and people drink from them, most of them already drunk beyond memory. Gendry toasts with whoever he can reach in the table, tapping his cup against Arya’s last before he drinks the remainder of his wine as his gut twists and turns with dread, quickly shut down by Arya’s hands on his face pulling him down for a kiss.

  


_ We’ll live,  _ he thinks to himself as he kisses Arya with all that is left inside him,  _ I won’t let you get away from me anymore.  _

  


“I love you, Gendry,” Arya’s words are barely audible over the noise of the hall but they don’t escape his ears as he pulls her back in, still too full of adrenaline to care about anyone else.

  


“I love you, Arya,” he mumbles before he crashes her lips to his again, scared to waste his last minutes with her doing anything else. “Won’t ever leave your side.”

  


-

  


He’s almost asleep when Arya sneaks into his bedroom from the window. She walks silently to his bed and tucks herself into him under the covers, her head right above his heart as she throws her arm over his waist to press them closer. He snakes his arms around her and holds her tight, placing a kiss to the top of her head before they both doze off, unnervingly calm in the dark of night before what could be the last night of their lives.

  


-

  


A gust of freezing wind tussles Arya’s hair, and he knows they’re here. 

  


As they stand there in the frontline, seeing as thousands of White Walkers and wights walk towards Winterfell with the bare light coming from the moon and their torches, his heart shrinks and his stomach drops at the realization that  _ this is it _ , that there’s no way of avoiding this. He can’t run away with Arya and hide, can’t move to Essos and start a new life, because this is where they’re meant to be.

  


And he hopes that they live, because he wants to be with Arya until their last dying breath. He wants to live with her in Storm’s End like Jon promised, grow old with her and wake up next to her every day as they did today.

  


He kisses Arya one last time as they wait in the battlefield, as long and sweet as they can manage before they pull apart, no tears in their eyes but still scared beyond belief of what comes next.

  


Arya’s hand slips into his and squeezes, and he settles into a calm, steady beat as they await to fight.

  


He never thought he’d find love, but now that he’s found it he doesn’t want to be away from her anymore.

  


And he’s willing to fight, because it’s all he can do to defend who he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's my attempt at a Gendrya fanfic, hope you liked it! If you did, feel free to drop a comment or kudos, they're greatly appreciated :)  
> If you wanna come talk to me about Game of Thrones or Voltron (and other stuff too) you can find me as emeraldmad on tumblr too! I'm not too active because of uni but I'll do my best.  
> I'm also looking for a beta reader for mostly Voltron, so you can contact me there for that too :) preferably people over 16  
> *This might get re-edited later


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